


his wonders to perform

by thisbluespirit



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Community: 100fandoms, Community: genprompt_bingo, Female Henry VII, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: As a woman, Lady Margaret Tudor’s fate is in the hands of others – and in the hands of God, of course.  And God, as everyone knows, moves in the strangest of ways.





	his wonders to perform

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 100fandoms prompt #81 history and genprompt_bingo square "Conflicting Obligations/Oaths" (although I was originally thinking of it for the Genderswap square, hence the genderswap). And, fair warning, Richard is implied as being responsible for the death of the princes in this, or at least that Female!Henry and her circle believe he is.
> 
> I think it's fair to say this really didn't end up going anywhere I'd quite expected it would when I started it.

She’s born on St Anne’s day, a miracle child, so her mother says, though others wonder that Lady Margaret should bear it – so much suffering in one so young only to produce a girl, and a sickly babe at that, not like to live. But survive she does, and is named Margaret for the Queen, for her mother, and for her grandmother.

It is God’s will that she lives, her mother says. She prayed to God that His will be done, and see, here is his answer. Small Meg is a sign and wonder in her eyes and she would not exchange her for any number of sons. She will be heir to both father and mother and make a great marriage. Perhaps she will even be a queen one day.

 

Times are too uncertain for such grand plans: young Meg is parted from her mother first by Lady Margaret’s next marriage, and then from her Uncle Jasper’s wardship by a turn of fortune. Her uncle the King is defeated and the new King Edward hands her over to William Herbert, who raises her with his children. Meg is sharp witted, though, too much for her own good. Though she’s treated well, she knows she’s a prisoner in truth. If she doubted it, she’d know when they never permit her mother to visit. She prays, as her lady mother taught her, and waits for God’s will to be done.

Her guardian is kindly; his family even more so, but she is a prize, to be wedded to Herbert’s son, Will. But the war will undo all such plans again: William Herbert rides into battle and never returns, and there’s a time of fear and confusion, moving from one household to another, until King Henry is back on the throne and everything changes.

 

“How have you grown so tall?” her mother says, when she embraces her, over and again on their first meeting in years. She feels the salt of Lady Margaret’s tears on her cheeks. “And so thin! But, now, all will be well. We shall have you betrothed to a great lord – and a kindly one.” She can’t keep her gaze from her daughter, so glad to be with her again. Meg could not be happier; she pushes aside the talk of betrothal, because this reunion is all she has asked of God these last years.

There’s more joy to come, for Uncle Jasper is returned and she remembers him well – Meg has a long memory and a loyal heart. She does not forget.

Her mother speaks firmly of God’s will and presents Meg to the King and Queen, and begins to talk of the future and of marriage negotiations to be made. Her own alliance with Stafford is happy, and she reminds Meg that while it is a duty, it is not always an unpleasant one, especially not when she has such a dowry to bargain with, and a royal heritage, regardless of the twists and snarls in it.

Meg hardly knows what she prays for now; only to remain near her mother as long as she may.

 

She should be more careful in her prayers: it seems God answers them in strange ways. All her mother’s marriage plans are come to naught again, for King Henry is defeated once more and King Edward back on the throne. This time he has little mercy for his enemies. Meg’s grandfather is killed and Uncle Jasper must run to avoid the same fate. Edward would not kill an unprotected female, though. What threat could she be? She is no lost Lancastrian heir to tempt back over the waters to her doom; she is only a woman and her value lies all in the disposal of her dowry, and the alliances she might bring.

The Queen takes her into her household with her mother for a time, and then she is placed with the young princesses, Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily. She’s treated well, and why not? Her mother is one of Queen Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting; Lady Margaret is a Yorkist by marriage, no matter what loyalties she owes to her Lancastrian birth. A woman is, after all, ruled by her husband, under God and the King.

It’s an odd thing, or perhaps not for a woman, whose part is peace-making and not war (though has anyone told Queen Margaret that?) but Meg spends all her growing years wrapped in the love of her enemies, first with the Herberts, and now with the royal family.

What to do with her is a question that is left unanswered. Edward would have sold her off cheaply for spite in his anger, and also there’s the danger of her family line and her fortune if he bestowed her on a dangerously high-standing lord. He’s less trusting now after these betrayals. But he would not offend mother’s new husband Stanley, so instead, such proposals are left to be considered later and at length and all the while, Meg goes unwed. The more secure Edward becomes, the less pressing the issue is, for all that Lady Margaret reminds the Queen of it whenever she may.

They suggest a convent next, and Meg thinks she might not mind so much. If she may choose her order, she could devote herself to learning and to piety; she might find that worthwhile, even if she would miss the liveliness of the court. She prays, reads works of devotion, and stitches very fine with deft fingers, but she also dances and hawks when and if she may, and she is fond of the young princesses she waits upon. She would like a household of her own to rule, though, and she would like to turn the scorn of other ladies of the court on their heads. The princesses and Queen treat her kindly, but others make cuts at her plain looks, her lack of a husband, and they wonder and they sometimes wonder if she is not a bastard, after all, for is that not the tradition in her family? She _would_ , she thinks, on turning twenty, rather a grand lord to shame them all than to be put away into a nunnery. 

A nunnery, though, might be better than remaining forgotten in the palaces of the King. These matters, though, are at the mercy of the King’s behest, her mother’s requests, and, over all, at God’s will and well she knows His ways are strange.

 

Lady Margaret is making progress towards Meg’s marriage when the King dies. She plots with the Queen to marry Meg to one of Elizabeth’s family, and, not only has she arranged a betrothal at last, but the King had even agreed that once she is wed Jasper might come home, if he, too makes a marriage that will bind him to York. There is, after all, so little left of Lancaster anyway. The last remaining heir is dead, ‘accidentally’ drowned in the waters of the English Channel on his way back to England. And King Henry is dead; Clarence is dead; Warwick is dead. Now they may all be safe and make peace with marriages. Why not?

These plans are never to be, either. The King dies suddenly, and everything changes.

 

Meg’s betrothal is the last thing on King Richard’s mind. He has enemies to win over or defeat, and a string of nieces to dispose of in marriage first. Meg, for being in the household of the princesses, and her mother’s daughter is out of favour again. No one will be bringing Jasper Tudor home from Brittany, unless Duke Francis gifts him to Richard to put in the Tower.

There have been too many deaths among those at court, not least that of the young Princes, and Richard is against both houses to which Meg owes loyalty. She’s permitted to remain at court for the moment. She is, after all, only a woman, a prize to be used when the time is right. She and the Princess Elizabeth – now merely the Lady Elizabeth – attend his Queen, until the poor lady dies, as does the King’s young heir. It’s punishment from God, the whispers say. Meg prays that God’s will be done, and shivers that the answers are so harsh and terrible.

Next, however, what the whispers say, is that the King will marry his niece.

“If I were a man,” says Lady Elizabeth, “I should kill him!”

Meg shushes her and brushes her hair. “If you were a man, none of this would be, and no one would have dreamed of it. You must not fear, my lady, it is only a rumour. Even if the King might find himself bound to consider it, it cannot be done. The country would not have it, the Pope would not have it – and how can the King of England marry a –”

“Bastard,” Bess whispers back, quick to cut in, blinking back tears of anger and shame. “How indeed.”

“And how should he be King of England if you were _not_? So, it cannot be done. You must not listen to such wicked gossip, my lady.”

Bess puts a hand on Meg’s arm. “And what should I do without my clever lady Meg?”

“Very well, I trust,” says Meg, and they both laugh at how much she sounds like her mother.

They pray together, and trust that God’s will be done; that he has not, as they say elsewhere, deserted unholy England altogether.

 

Time proves the rumour is only a rumour. What happens next is the strangest of all. The King arranges a match with Portugal for Bess and considers a Portuguese princess for himself, but turns again with an unexpected proposal. For if the Woodvilles are against him, he cannot have them running to plot with whatever leaderless remnant of the Lancastrians are yet at large. Why not use what he has to hand to end the wars, divide his enemies, and win back Lancaster?

God’s ways are exceeding strange, for now it seems that Meg shall be Queen of England after all.

 

She should remember to be careful for what she asks of God. Now the King seeks her as a bride, despite her years, and her odd lineage, and she may crow at any lady who once despised her.

She does not want this. A household, yes; even a kingdom, perhaps, if such fell her way – she puts nothing past her lady mother. But this household, this kingdom, this king? They say that Richard is cursed for his deeds, and that is why the Queen and their son died. If so, then she must count her life in days and hours now; the curse will take her next. She crosses herself. Holy Mother, she has no wish to die yet.

And there is Bess. She is grieving, though she knows her match is a good one, that she should be pleased her uncle is honouring his promise. It’s hard to leave her mother and sisters now. It is only a woman’s lot, nothing more than should be expected, but she has already lost too much. She will never see them again; it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. Meg will never see her again, either – and there is also the inconvenient fact that Bess is the only rightful Queen in this land. Meg most especially would not have her go, hating her as she now does for this seeming betrayal.

These matters are out of all their hands. Meg cannot even consult her mother; she is not allowed to see her until after she is wed. She may only pray, but she has learned well that prayers have power and now she has nothing to lose when she kneels and bargains with God.

 

She plants seeds where she may: she is only a weak woman of course, and a woman falls prey to temptation more easily than a man. That is the lesson of the fall. So, if she pretends to pity my Lord of Lincoln for what he will soon lose, as Richard’s accepted heir, it is only that woman’s weakness, is it not?

Meg hears the gossip circle the court: Lincoln is angry. It’s not that the King is going to marry, of course, that’s what Lincoln says. It’s the damned insult of him choosing that long-shanked Tudor bitch; the unroyal daughter of treachery and bastardy. He always believed Richard had _pride_. It’s not the thought of being King that draws Lincoln on, oh, no. It’s all Richard’s doing; he’s gone too far with this last folly.

Meg shivers when she thinks of the whispers she’s heard, though what the Earl of Lincoln does is a matter for his own conscience and not hers. He does only what was in his heart to do all along.

 

Her wedding day arrives a good while before Bess is due to leave and she is there to attend on the new Queen; their roles reversed. Meg is pale, plainer than ever for her attraction lies in animation, in her smiles and wit, and that only those she loves are privileged to see. Today, she is sick with fear, too much so to be at her best, and it’s Bess who lends her strength.

“I do not blame you,” Bess says. “I am sorry for what I said before. I do know how it is. If those dreadful rumours had proved true, what choice should I have had but to obey?” Then she tilts her head, resting her hand on Bess’s arm. “Your stomach pains you, does it not?”

Meg only stares ahead, and nods.

“Don’t be afraid,” says Bess as softly as she may, to be unheard by the other ladies, her hand lowering to touch Meg’s. “He will not hurt _you_. You are his queen now – you will bring him Lancaster and end the wars.”

Meg breathes out. She knows she must master this physical weakness that fear always causes in her. “I thank you, my lady. Though, truth be told, I fear, sometimes, more myself than him.”

“Why,” says Bess, with a laugh, “what a thing to say! After all these years, I should know what you are – you are my good, clever Meg, and you will do nothing wrong. If this had happened any other way, I would be glad for you!” 

Meg goes forward with Bess’s encouragement, but she distrusts herself. It’s too easy to see the weaknesses of others – and how to use them – and that she cannot count a virtue.

 

It’s not so bad, the wedding itself. After the ceremony comes the feasting and drinking, and it’s a great deal of it passes in a haze, and then Meg has her own household. It’s days before Meg sees the King again. When he does approach her, she is at her prayers.

“What do you do?” he asks, watching her. He’s unsure what to make of her. He’d never given her much thought before. Why should he have done? That is, Meg supposes, her advantage, if she chooses to use it.

She bows her head again once she rises from the ground. “I pray for your soul, your grace.”

It’s only the truth, but he flinches and leaves. Under God, a subject’s duty is to the King and a wife’s duty to her husband; she is not betraying that, but she has other loyalties. Her love is a tenacious thing, and she is not easily forsworn. It was to others of her enemies than Richard that she first gave her service and her heart, that is all.

 

The new peace doesn’t last. Before Elizabeth can sail away to Portugal, the court is a-buzz with the news that Lincoln has made a deal with the Woodville faction and others, including some of the exiled Lancastrians. It’s true: he makes an attempt to put a lad he calls Warwick on the throne. The boy is no such thing; Richard has his young, foolish nephew kept under close watch in one fortress or another.

There is a reckoning, though, and another battle. God’s curse is not yet done, and both king and heir are slain.

 

England is in turmoil and there’s only one answer left, if the country is not to risk another boy King in Warwick (who is, besides barred by attainder). Bess will never leave England now as princess or lady; she will be its Queen.

What may come may be worse yet, and Meg tells herself it was not her doing, for what power does she have? God does what He will, after all, and even if He listens to her petitions, that is at His whim and pleasure, not hers. Besides, she has made up her mind, if it is in any way her doing, if she must also pay with a curse, she will accept that. God’s will be done is what she prays for her as well as for others. She thinks she knows what it must be.

Now she helps to dress Bess for coronation in robes threaded with gold and silver. Whatever the country thinks of a woman at its head, the London crowds will love her, at least for today.

“Do not go into a nunnery,” Bess says, gripping Meg’s hand as she starts to move away, “I will find some other path for you, but I must have you at hand.”

Meg smiles. “No, no. You’ll not need me for much longer, your grace.”

“You don’t know how my legs tremble,” says Bess, with a small laugh, and their fingers touch again, only for an instant. She raises her head, Plantagenet pride resurfacing. “But I _am_ my father’s daughter and they will see that – and love me for it, I know.”

Meg turns to survey her work, and drops a curtsey to the Queen. “And your mother’s, never forget.”

“Yes indeed,” says Elizabeth, and they exchange a secret smile.

They are both their mothers’ daughters, it is true. The rest is in God’s hands.


End file.
